


Valley of Plenty

by layinginthegrass



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Cock Worship, Edging, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Horny Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, caught masturbating, slight degradation, unbeta'ed we die like Geralt in Jaskier's lap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layinginthegrass/pseuds/layinginthegrass
Summary: Geralt turned onto his side, back to the fire, and was still.It had only been twenty or thirty minutes when he heard a soft rustling on Jaskier’s side of the fire.Jaskier had begun to unlace his breeches, allowing himself a glance at Geralt’s silver hair, swept over his shoulder, his shoulder blades showing through his thin summer gear, his muscled back and waist and, Gods, that ass… The musician closed his eyes, one hand beginning to stroke himself in a gently rhythmic motion. Sure, it was risky, touching himself right here, right next to Geralt, but the Witcher had complained of exhaustion all day long. The chances of him getting caught were low, right?Wrong.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 240





	Valley of Plenty

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone this is my first ever smut fic so obviously i had to write it like its gonna be my magnum opus, anyways i apologize in advance its filthy idk what got into me... enjoy!

The sun was setting on the seventh day of their trek into the Blue Mountains, and Jaskier was dragging. 

“Hurry up!” Geralt barked, annoyance rising in his chest as he glanced yet again at the painted sky, which was expeditiously blooming into shades of indigo, mottled with fading lilacs and violets.

Jaskier remained sullenly quiet. He’d been away from civilization for far longer stretches of time than this, but he was tired. Geralt was constantly on his heels, urging Jaskier along the path faster, anxiously pressing onwards towards the pass, beyond which his latest job waited. Slightly out of breath from the pace, he couldn’t even summon a tune to his lips. 

Kicking a rock off the narrow path, Jaskier huffed exasperatedly, bitter that Geralt couldn’t have indulged him in this one joy. Geralt knew that he loved sunsets, loved to luxuriate in the golden-lavender sunset tinging the evergreens and the wildflowers, loved to breathe deeply and enjoy all that the sun and the stars and the hushing mountains had to offer. The evening was balmy enough to warrant no such rush, and the moon was out too, gently lighting the sloping trail. 

Geralt glanced backwards again, frustration evident on his face. He grunted and pulled on the reins, bringing Roach to a standstill on the mountain path. 

Jaskier caught up and paused, hands on his knees, the altitude and the exertion catching up to him. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, “I’m okay, really, I just need to acclimate a little longer, go on without me, I’ll catch up.”

Geralt grunted. “No.”

Jaskier squinted into the Witcher’s eyes. “But…”

Geralt offered a gloved hand. “Get on. I’m tired too.”

Jaskier’s heart skipped a couple beats, pleased that Geralt was going to be nice to him today. 

The first couple minutes, bathed in the dimming light, were okay. But after a while, it became increasingly hard to stay still. Jaskier wasn’t used to the constant swaying of Roach, and although Geralt’s custom saddle was enormous, it just wasn’t big enough for both of them to sit comfortably. Jaskier, of course, being the guest on Roach, was trying his best to not bother Geralt. By leaning back, engaging his abs in the effort, he could keep a modest distance between Geralt’s supple, leather-covered ass and the crotch of Jaskier’s pants.

He couldn’t help it, the riding motion was rubbing fabric over his dick and Geralt’s ass and muscled back was inches away, so close he could smell the pine and sandalwood on Geralt’s silver hair. Jaskier shifted uncomfortably, hoping to assuage his hardening cock, mentally berating himself for allowing himself to get turned on at a time like this.

We’ll make camp soon, Jaskier thought to himself, It’ll be over before I know it and Geralt will never find out about my… Jaskier glanced down. ...problem. He decided to breathe deeply and tighten his stomach muscles to hold his body still. 

Roach walked unsteadily over a patch of particularly rocky soil, exacerbating the sway Jaskier was already busy trying to dampen. It all happened so fast, Jaskier suddenly lost the purchase he had on the sloped end of the saddle, sliding down to the trough, hard dick colliding with Geralt.

Jaskier scooted back up as soon as possible, ignoring the pulsing excitement that had tripled with the touch of Geralt’s ass. Surely, he consoled himself, surely Geralt’s thick leather armor would mask everything, he probably didn’t even feel me. 

Soon enough, they arrived at a flat clearing several dozen meters away from the main path, eager to finally rest. Geralt said nothing that even suggested that he had realized what was going on, and so the two men started a fire, enjoyed the wild rabbit Geralt caught that afternoon, and settled onto their respective bedrolls, close enough to share the warmth emanating from the embers, but far enough to keep a curtain of shadow over their figures slumped on the ground.

Geralt turned onto his side, back to the fire, and was still. 

It had only been twenty or thirty minutes when he heard a soft rustling on Jaskier’s side of the fire.

Jaskier had begun to unlace his breeches, allowing himself a glance at Geralt’s silver hair, swept over his shoulder, his shoulder blades showing through his thin summer gear, his muscled back and waist and, Gods, that ass, that ass I touched today… 

The musician closed his eyes, one hand beginning to stroke himself in a gently rhythmic motion, imagining that they were on Roach again, imagining that Geralt knew and enjoyed it, encouraged it, arching his back, maybe removing a layer of clothing or two, guiding Roach over stony terrain to let Jaskier rut his aching cock against Geralt’s ass for as long as he needed.

Sure, it was risky, touching himself right here, right next to Geralt, but the Witcher had complained of exhaustion all day long. Besides, he hadn’t moved a muscle in a half hour. Clearly, Geralt was asleep. Jaskier considered getting up to find a secluded spot, but the darkness and the crunchy leaves surrounding them created a bigger risk of Geralt waking up. Anyways, the chances of him getting caught were low, right?

Wrong. 

Geralt, with the heightened Witcher senses, was keenly aware of Jaskier’s lust, just inches away from him, so strong it surrounded him, engulfed him, pulled him into Jaskier’s invisible embrace. Geralt, a man of tightly bottled self-control, could have pretended to shift in his sleep, to roll over to face Jaskier, to possibly even rise out of bed under the pretext of needing a skin of water. He could have, in so many ways, made Jaskier stop. But he didn’t. 

He hadn’t stopped Jaskier earlier in the evening, masking the way his hands tightened on Roach’s rains when Jaskier slid against him. Well, not just slid into him, because Geralt had been scenting arousal, strong arousal, coming off of Jaskier for nearly the entire time he was on Roach. Geralt had felt, clear as day, Jaskier’s cock… hard cock… against him. Though Geralt had elected to conceal his awareness to protect Jaskier’s feelings, Jaskier touching himself right here in front of him was something else. 

A low heat had begun to coil in his belly at the first rustle of Jaskier’s fingers pulling at the twine which laced his breeches. There had been so many instances over the last few months, ever since Jaskier returned to join him for a period as he penned his newest leaflet of ballads, that Geralt’s resolve had almost broken. His body wanted Jaskier… badly. But Geralt always held back, unwilling to ruin this friendship. And now… the soft, persistent sound of Jaskier’s hand sliding up and down was completely unravelling him, overpowering his best instincts.

He listened intently, to the soft, wet sounds of skin against skin, of Jaskier’s hand sliding contentedly, chasing Jaskier’s overwhelmingly strong scent of arousal with his own, not that Jaskier’s human senses would ever know that.

Geralt’s cat-like reflexes held his body as still as a statue, desperate to not give away his wakefulness. He was grateful for the firelight warming his back, glad that the deep blush spreading across his cheeks was well hidden in the shadows, and even more glad that his own cock, growing harder by the minute beneath his leathers, was safely concealed. At least his back was safely turned against Jaskier.

With his senses, it wasn’t hard to mentally reconstruct Jaskier, but Geralt allowed himself the pleasure of fantasy. Was that ruffle of fabric and grass Jaskier widening his legs, spreading them over his body in a V-shape? Was that wet sound Jaskier adding some spit to his hand, or was he going to fuck himself a little too, just a finger or two in his arse? Will his spit run down the length of his dick, past his balls, between his arse cheeks? Will Jaskier roll onto his belly, support himself with one forearm, and lay down again on his other hand, slow contractions of his back and abs allowing him short thrusts through his hand? 

Geralt listened attentively, heart racing, as Jaskier’s hand began to speed up. Geralt could feel a warm wetness spreading over the tip of his own cock. It felt delicious. 

And then Jaskier began to moan softly, tipping his head back onto the ground so his brown curls framed his blushed face. Geralt’s ears pricked up, dick so hard it hurt. 

Geralt had not originally planned on touching himself too, but this was too much. He felt dazed, the insistent pressure of his pants tightening and loosening and sliding over his wet tip just a little bit with every throb of his cock. It was maddening. Without touching himself, Geralt felt confident he could come within minutes, at most. It was tantalizing, and a little surprising, that the Witcher already felt so close, so on the edge, just from listening. But… it would satisfy him sooner if he could just give his dick a little squeeze, a little rub over his pants.

Geralt was carefully considering whether he could shift his hand enough to be able to palm himself without giving away any motion of his shoulder or rustling sounds, when he heard it.

“Geralt…” Jaskier groaned, a moan interrupting his increasingly rapid gasps, he was cascading dangerously close to the edge, surely forgetting himself. 

Geralt made a strangled sound.

It was a careless mistake, a noise unmistakably loud, piercing through the stillness of the night. 

Jaskier wasn’t masturbating to some courtesan or whore, Jaskier wanted him.

And then there was silence. 

Geralt’s cheeks burned, heart racing, adrenaline pouring into his veins, biting down on his lip as if it could take back the whine he had just emitted at his surprise of Jaskier’s cry.

Geralt listened. Jaskier had stopped masturbating. 

Surely, the bard had heard him. The silence was deafening. 

Oh Gods, he knows, he heard me, he stopped stroking, he knows I was listening, Geralt’s mind raced. Or maybe he didn’t... Maybe he finished and he was too lost in his pleasure to notice me, thought Geralt feverishly, although the overpowering scent of lust suggested the opposite. He held his breath. 

“Geralt? Geralt, is that you?” Jaskier panted, fumbling in the semi-darkness to cover himself.

“Geralt, get up,” he instructed gently, trying to catch his breath.

Geralt capitulated, slowly swinging his body around, orgasm fading, while Jaskier continued to ramble.

“Geralt, it’s okay, I’m not angry, let’s just talk about it…”

His voice caught and fell off when the firelight illuminated Geralt, staring brazenly into Jaskier’s eyes, struggling to imitate a facade of impassivity. “Oh… Geralt,” he whispered.

“Look at you,” he said softly, taking in the Witcher’s dilated pupils, his reddened cheeks, the flush on his chest.

Oh Gods… Geralt was resting on his knees now, sitting back onto his haunches, wound up like a panther preparing to pounce, but the way that position stretched his pants rendered Jaskier helpless. Jaskier’s heartbeat migrated southwards, pounding insistently in the head of his cock, orgasm long melted away.

He rested his eyes for a moment on the crotch of Geralt’s leathers, momentarily ignoring the growing throb in his own aching dick, naked in the summer night air. The outline of Geralt was unmistakable. His cock was straining shamelessly, stretching Geralt’s pants into a familiar shape, stained at the end with a darkly spreading patch of precum. 

Jaskier almost opens his mouth to speak, but then, almost imperceptibly, Geralt widens his legs, sitting back almost casually, sinking just a little deeper onto his heels, almost inviting Jaskier to come and help him out of these breeches before he tears them, and Jaskier bites back an almost dizzying rush of arousal.

He looked up and levelled his cornflower-blue eyes with Geralt’s cat-like ones, preparing to defuse the situation, mentally kicking himself, burning with both the shame of being caught and the desire incarnate kneeling before him. 

“Geralt,” he began lightheartedly, “Geralt, you know a poor defenseless bard such as myself must investigate when things in the night go bump.”

Geralt stared at him, his expression indecipherable, dick very visible.

“I didn’t know you were awake, and I didn’t mean to disrespect--”

Geralt cut in, his voice rough and full of something deep and raw. “Suck my dick, bard.”

Jaskier trailed off, reeling with another rush of eroticism, deciding through his hazy mind to pitch a last-ditch effort to mollify Geralt. “I…come again, Geralt? I’d have to unhinge my jaw like a snake if I ever hoped to...”

Geralt interrupted. “Now.”

Jaskier nearly leapt off of his bedroll, meeting Geralt’s sturdy hands on the other side of the fire.

“So rough, Witcher. Where are your manners? What ever happened to ‘please’ and ‘thank you?’” Jaskier murmured.

The two men tumbled over each other onto Geralt’s pallet, Jaskier emerging from the fray, quickly climbing to his throne, straddling Geralt, who let out a groan of approval, rocking frantically in a back-and-forth motion, riding the hardness at the apex of his thighs, drunk on his own arousal as his aching cock begged for more. They didn’t kiss. 

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed softly, gripping Jaskier’s hips so hard he was sure there would be bruises come morning, adjusting Jaskier’s speed and pressure, and then laying back, contented, his medallion rising and falling rather quickly on his chest. 

Fuck, thought Jaskier, even in a moment like this, the fucking Witcher likes it slow. 

They paused momentarily to remove shirts, and then Jaskier bent low to lavish kisses up the Witcher’s jawline, teasing his ear with his warm breath, sucking tenderly on his neck, kissing his earlobes, eliciting a torrent of swearing intermixed with gasps. 

“You’re gorgeous, kitten. Has anyone cared to alert you recently?” Jaskier murmured, gathering a handful of silver curls, tucking his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck. 

“First, I’m going to kiss you,” he announced, “and then I’m going to choke myself on your perfect Witcher cock until either the sun comes up or I asphyxiate myself and die happy.”

Jaskier’s lips cut off a quiet string of curses as they crashed together, Jaskier suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of smoke and evergreen and game and sweat and boy, immediately intoxicated. In response, Geralt moaned, moaning into Jaskier’s mouth, a sweet, helpless gesture of approval, his hand tightening around Jaskier’s hip-bone, keening into the kiss like a starved man to a feast.

With his free hand, Jaskier fumbled to untie Geralt’s breeches, pulling urgently on the laces, easing the pressure off of his dick as he scooted back, Geralt’s fingernails trawling lazily up his back. Drunk with arousal and need, kissing him breathlessly, wildly, passionately, he tore off the remainder of Geralt’s clothes, and Geralt did likewise with him, strewing them heedlessly onto the soft grass, the anticipation a fiery heat in Jaskier’s belly.

Flushed with pleasure, the bard took his time attentively kissing down Geralt’s neck, down his lean, muscular body, kissing his chest studded with scars, each kiss a subservient bow to gravity, which was pulling him, pressing him, drawing Jaskier down into Geralt, kissing his stomach, kissing down the trail of silver hair until he found his target, whence he flicked his eyes up to meet Geralt’s half-lidded cat eyes, dark with desire.

Jaskier tapped Geralt’s legs, expecting him to immediately open and let Jaskier crawl into position, but the Witcher did not move, so he instead grabbed him by the knees and pushed his legs apart, finally tucking his body between the mountain of man, inwardly chuckling at Geralt, the Witcher, the fucking Witcher, was a princess in bed, almost petulant in having to participate in his own sex.

Geralt folded his hands behind his head, flexing his abs just enough to allow him a vantage point that he could see Jaskier’s beautiful face kissing adoringly down his body, his brown curls almost burnt gold in the firelight. He shuddered as Jaskier kissed his Adonis muscles, tracing down, teasingly close to his cock, begging for his touch, precum now dripping languidly. The breath caught in Geralt’s throat as Jaskier fixed him with a look, facing shining with unconcealed excitement between his legs.

“Geralt…” Jaskier sighed. 

“Please,” Geralt whispered in return, tilting his head back as Jaskier’s kiss quickly turned into a swipe of his tongue, a lapping motion, a deeper warmth enveloping the entire head of his cock. 

“The courtly manners have returned, I see,” Jaskier surfaced, making a show of licking his lips whilst gazing into the Witcher’s eyes, pools of gold now.

Geralt allowed his eyes to flutter closed, focusing on the heat building in his core, indulging in the rich sensations of Jaskier’s expertise, a wet, exquisite, magical release of the months of restraint, of all the emotion and arousal he had promised to shelve, all the months of averting his gaze when tavern wenches beguiled him, of tossing restlessly in bed beside him, trying to avoid the spark of his skin, of making excuses why he didn’t want to help wash off monster guts in the bathtub…

Geralt moaned as Jaskier continued, sinking deeper, bobbing up and down indelibly, exhaling his own string of swears and gasps in between dives. Jaskier flushed with pleasure, well aware of how undone Geralt was becoming, frankly, Jaskier felt proud, as if all his life had built up to this moment of burying his face in between Geralt’s thighs, gasping and choking and sucking and of course his hands were helping, Geralt was huge and Jaskier’s tongue couldn’t handle it alone, surely not, so his hand helped stroke along the base of Geralt’s shaft, another hand cupping his balls, his tongue running smoothly under the ridge of his cock here and sliding over the tip there, tasting another sweet release of precum. It was glorious.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous,” Jaskier breathed, relishing in it all, Geralt, naked, hard, and hot before him, the fullness of Geralt’s dick a weight in his mouth. 

Moans were beginning to escape the silver-haired man, moans Geralt, a usually stoic figure, couldn’t contain anymore, moans that quickly sharpened to an edge of need, a hint of pleading seeping into them.

“Jaskier,” Geralt panted, “I’m close, I’m gonna cum!”

Jaskier, a vicious revenge forming in his mind for Geralt’s torturous evening prior, bypassing the sunset, paused.

“No.”

“What?”

Jaskier resumed stroking Geralt, with a rather quick pace, at that. “I said no. You’re not allowed to cum without my permission. You have to wait,” Jaskier rasped, firelight glinting in his eyes, still framed by the v-shape of Geralt’s legs, tossed wide.

Geralt groaned, plaintive, his hips bucking, evidently still very close to the edge even with Jaskier’s tongue missing. “But… I need to! I need to cum, Jaskier.”

The bard smiled mischievously, hand speeding up again. “Oh no, Geralt. You can’t.”

The Witcher fell silent, his hand tugging a sharp warning on Jaskier’s hair, a whine keening from his throat. 

“You see, dear Witcher, I’m going to make you wait. Help you learn to smell the roses. Such as sunsets, and orgasms. Look at you, so strong, so powerful, surely you can hold on a little longer. You’re going to wait for me.”

Jaskier had started this game intending to relent within seconds, but then Geralt’s cock jerked in Jaskier’s hand, a fresh rush of precum dripping down. 

“You love it,” Jaskier teased, stifling a giggle, not yet entirely sure if he was referring to Geralt’s apparent rapt indulgence in being gently humiliated, being told to wait, or generally submitting to Jaskier’s whims. “Say ‘Ragamuffin’ if you want to stop, okay?”

Geralt hummed in response, shivering a little as he did so, so enveloped with need he could barely think, let alone throw a retort at Jaskier, unabashed in his enjoyment.

Jaskier dipped down again, Geralt’s aching cock filling his mouth, saliva coating his swollen tip, tongue curling expertly around it, flicking against the underside’s crease. He shifted his weight, straddling Geralt’s toned calf, just barely grinding his neglected dick against Geralt’s bare skin, moaning softly in between licks, humming in appreciation as he felt the bigger man’s body tremble with the effort of holding back, felt needy throbs of Geralt’s dick thickly fill his mouth and throat. Casting one eye open, his dick dribbled a little, seeing Geralt’s pale hand drawn up in the grass, clenching the earth tightly, as if it’ll help him hold on.

Geralt moaned, loudly, helplessly, the same tinge of pleading welling up in his voice. “Jaskier, I need to- I’m going to-” Geralt whined, another shiver passing through his body as Jaskier raised his head. 

“Oh, no Witcher,” Jaskier taunted, “What was that? I don’t think that sounded like you asking for my permission.”

“What? I- I need-” Geralt beseeched, screwing his eyes closed. 

“You’re just going to have to wait a little longer.” Jaskier exhaled, pressing his own hard cock a little harder against Geralt’s leg, dragging it along heavily, teasing Geralt with a languid moan at his own unchecked pleasure.

“Is a simple, unarmed bard enough to make you surrender and capitulate. Is it really so easy to defeat such a big, strong, capable Witcher?”

Geralt only groaned in response.

Jaskier pressed down, going lower still, choking himself as he tried to take all of Geralt’s reddened cock.

“Ja-ah-askier,” Geralt gasped, his breaths punctuated with sharp little ah-ah-ah sounds, the sound of a Witcher truly desperate.

“Ohhh,” Jaskier crooned, rising clumsily, blinking away the tears that had filled his eyes with the effort of going down on Geralt, enormous as he was. “This is going to be one for the legends. Shall I write a song, Geralt?”

“Ja-ah-askier, please!”

Jaskier gave another artfully slow arch of his body, another grind against Geralt’s downy (and now very wet) leg. “Oh! So you do want a song! This is splendid, Geralt, absolutely splendid. I shall begin composing at once.”

“No! All I want is- ohhhhh” Geralt was cut off by a tight squeeze of his dick by Jaskier’s hand.

“I’m so glad you agree, Geralt,” Jaskier continued, “Imagine how the whole world will receive the news: Geralt, Witcher, the White Wolf, renowned across the continent for his strength and stamina and monster-slaying abilities, needs to ask permission to cum.”

Geralt could only moan in disapproval, his body shaking openly now.

Jaskier struck up a tune, almost but not quite masking the slight quiver of his own voice, intoxicated with pleasure. “Geralt,” he sang, “needs to come…”

Geralt actually moaned in response.

“Awww, he needs to come. Do you want to come, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, pushing his hair back with his free hand, his other hand continuing to stroke Geralt hard and fast.

Geralt groaned, “Don’t… don’t say that…”

“Don’t say what? Don’t ask you if you want to cum?”

Geralt shuddered again. “Please…”

Jaskier laughed. “Look at you, mighty Witcher. So close to the edge that a single word might be enough to make you lose control.”

Jaskier leaned forwards suddenly, entangling his hand in Geralt’s silver hair, yanking it back so that he could whisper into Geralt’s ear. “Look at you... so undone. You must need to cum so, so badly.”

Geralt’s breathing was ragged, shaky so that he was almost hyperventilating.

“Ja-ah-askier, pl-please! “ Geralt screwed his eyes shut tight, quivering like a leaf in the wind, cock reddened and soaked, “I’m gonna-.”

Jaskier removed his hand roughly, suddenly. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Geralt groaned loudly, gasping for breath, tight white muscles aching and aching and aching as he tightened his body and tried, with all of his might, to hold back. He burned fever-hot in his core, feeling like just one touch of his inner thigh would make him burst.

Stretched out before him, Geralt, unaccustomed to the lack of sensation, lifted his hips, not fucking the air, not just yet, but almost. 

“Don’t you dare, Geralt,” Jaskier said roughly, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

Now Geralt really was fucking the air, shaking and moaning with the effort of holding back his orgasm, hips rolling, a clear indication of the state he was in, a wordless beg, a pleading gesture for release.

Jaskier could even see muscles between his legs pulsing as Geralt tried to hold back, testament to how badly Geralt really did need to come.

“I don’t want to see a single drop of cum spurt from your cock, Witcher. You better wait.”

Geralt still writhed on the ground, but the ah-ah-ah gasping sounds quieted somewhat. Geralt struggled to regain control of his breathing, his gorgeous chest, mapped with stars the way the sky is charted with constellations, erratically slowing to a more controlled pace.

Jaskier paused, teasing Geralt slyly. 

“Is there something you need, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, settling heavily between Geralt’s legs, one hand lazily touching Geralt’s balls, revelling in each jolt of Geralt’s body, slowly coming down from the tip of orgasm. 

“We can’t have you getting too comfortable” the troubadour continued, his hand returning to Geralt’s rock-hard cock, setting a torturous pace, fast and hard, aiming to keep Geralt riding the edge of orgasm. “But I bet that you can’t make it another minute. Maybe two.”

Geralt pushed himself up on his elbows roughly, fixing Jaskier with a murderous stare. “I’ll kill you, bard, I’ll slit your throat if you don’t let me- oh,” Geralt grunted, an unsuppressed moan cutting him off prematurely, his voice catching into the exhaled moan.

“What was that, Witcher? I didn’t quite catch that,” Jaskier said, a glint in his eye, his dick weeping openly, a dribble seeping onto the down of Geralt’s leg, clearly enjoying himself.

“I said,” Geralt began, “I need to cum so bad I’ll kill you if you don’t let me-.” Geralt lapsed into another series of whines as Jaskier plunged down again, wrapping his tongue around Geralt, swishing skillfully, quelling another gag as he forced himself down further and further, intent on kissing the base of Geralt’s dick. If there ever was a heaven, this was it, Jaskier reflected inwardly. 

Couched firmly between Geralt’s spread legs, gorging himself greedily on the Witcher’s massive cock, trying to take all of him all the way down to his silvery curls, riding his leg shamelessly, moaning delightedly with each breath of air, forcing Geralt to wait, relishing in each jerk and jolt and shiver and crumble of Geralt’s facade as he fought to stay in control, fuck, Jaskier was dominating the fucking Witcher. Geralt was rocking his hips gently, thrusting up to meet Jaskier with each suck and kiss and lick of his needy cock.

This, he thought, is the valley of plenty, remembering a famous song he once wrote for Geralt.

Geralt’s moans suddenly pitched higher and higher, and he thrust his hips up, meeting Jaskier’s lips. “I’m so close, I’m gonna- Ja-ah-ah-,” Geralt gasped breathlessly.

Jaskier immediately straightened up, his own spit coating his mouth and chin, coughing just a little from Geralt’s unexpected thrust, sweetly achieving Jaskier’s goal of taking all of him at once. Pain is temporary, he told himself, Geralt is forever. 

Jaskier didn’t immediately respond, closing his eyes and leaning back on Geralt’s supple leg, grinding feverishly, moaning, quite ready to cum himself.

Thoroughly enjoying the show he was putting on for Geralt, Jaskier fixed him with a sharp gaze.

“I need-,” Geralt panted, tight white fists digging into the ground as he struggled, chest heaving.

“Then beg,” Jaskier taunted. “Beg for it.”

“Please!! Let me cum!!!” Geralt begged, Jaskier’s incessant stroking overwhelming him.

“Mm, that wasn’t good enough, wolf. Try again,” Jaskier said mercilessly.

Straining with the effort to speak instead of just moan, Geralt was gasping, barely fitting a word into each sharp inhale of breath, feeling himself losing control bit by bit, hands losing traction on the reins, the tsunami in this body inescapably engulfing his mind and body.

“Ja-ah-ah-askier, please, pl-, pl-, please-, I can’t wait any longer, I can’t make it, I can’t-”

“No.”

Geralt, millimeters from the edge, stifled a sob, Jaskier’s denial somehow turning him on even more, somehow increasing his desperation to fever pitch.

“Look at you. A Witcher begging a bard for mercy.” Jaskier scooted up, straddling Geralt between the legs.

“Please, Jaskier, please, please, please!!! PLEASE!!! PLEASE, JASKIER- ah!”

And then Geralt was gone, no longer even able to speak, begging Jaskier with his eyes even though he knew Jaskier could see him letting go, no longer able to hold it or stop it, over the edge, past the point of no return.

“Come for me, honey” was all Jaskier said, bending low to kiss him passionately.

At first, Geralt was silent, frozen as his pleasure crested inside him, and then he cried out, moaning, rough and ragged animal moans full of raw relief, moaning into Jaskier’s mouth, kissing him even as he saw stars dance behind his eyes, feeling his own cum splashing off of Jaskier’s chest and stomach back onto his own.

He seemed to cum for eternity. Jaskier felt lightheaded, his heart and core squeezing painfully with every gasp and cry and moan of Geralt’s. Never in a million years had he imagined he’d be here, the sound of Geralt’s moans pushing him over the edge, coming hard with Geralt underneath him, Geralt who was shaking and breathless as he came down from his orgasm, dick still visibly throbbing between them, painted and splashed with Jaskier’s own cum as he chased Geralt’s pleasure with his own.

They were silent for a moment, except for the sounds of them catching their breath. 

“Fuck,” was all Geralt said, in true Geralt fashion.

Jaskier opened his mouth in response, but Geralt held up a hand.

“Don’t speak.”

Jaskier blinked, taken aback, a cold feeling shooting into his stomach.

“Wait- no, Jaskier,” Geralt backtracked. He must have seen Jaskier’s face.

“I can’t… I can’t hear right now.”

Jaskier looked at him.

“My ears are ringing…” Geralt admitted.

Jaskier laughed, a sweet sound, and curled up by Geralt’s side, for the time uncaring of the mess they’d made. 

“You look like a lion on the serengeti,” Geralt noted, once he had regained his hearing somewhat.

Jaskier smiled. “I look like a lion on the serengeti?! You came hard hard, if you lost your hearing temporarily.”

“You love it,” Geralt remarked dryly, playing off of Jaskier’s earlier taunts, evidently savoring their moment of clarity. “I loved it too. That was the best I’ve had in a long, long time.”

Jaskier didn’t intend for his face to blush the deep crimson it did. He knew his worship of Geralt’s cock was conspicuous, overt, obvious, but for stoic, steadfast Geralt to voice it was something else. Jaskier was possessed by an urge, needing to make things crystal clear to Geralt, unable to bear another moment of ambiguity, yearning to tell Geralt all the things he needed to hear, that he was needed, wanted, craved, essential, Jaskier hadn’t really come all this way from the courts and the taverns to write a new book of songs in nature, his real muse had been here all along, right by his side, and Geralt needed to know that now.

Besides, it was he, Jaskier, who single-handedly (well, not really) gave Geralt heaven tonight. The best, he repeated mentally.

“You did so well for me, tonight,” Jaskier started, before trailing off.

It is common knowledge that sex, immediately after a time when your lips are inches from another man’s cock, specifically one that is inches from bursting, a time when your body is pumping furiously against your lover’s leg, a time when your voice is fighting to keep out a quiver, is generally not the best time to unpack all the emotions and floweriness that comes with deep, intimately vulnerable confessions, and Jaskier knew this. 

He blurted out, checks and chest deepening to a velvet claret color, completely unable to help himself, “I love you.”

Golden cat eyes met Jaskier’s glacier blue ones. Geralt bit his lip, a rosy glow spreading across his cheeks. Another trademark unreadable expression. He propped himself up on his elbow. 

Jaskier held his gaze, breathless, shaky, feeling like a great weight had been lifted off of his chest, fervent, gulping, butterflies filling his stomach.

“Me too,” Geralt whispered, firelight framing his face. 

Jaskier tilted his face up, a warm feeling spreading through his entire body. 

And so they kissed. Tenderly. Jaskier snuggled in closer, fitting his head in the crook of Geralt's shoulder and neck.

No point in waiting any longer.


End file.
